Countless Proposals
by Shadowhunter5801
Summary: Sherlock didn't know how to do it. Sherlock had no idea how to do it, and he was not, by any means, used to that particular feeling. It irritated him to no end. No, it infuriated him to no end, because Sherlock Holmes was not clueless. Except, apparently, when it came to proposing.


Sherlock didn't know how to do it. Sherlock had no idea how to do it, and he was not, by any means, used to that particular feeling. It irritated him to no end. No, it infuriated him to no end, because Sherlock Holmes was not _clueless_.

Except, apparently, when it came to proposing.

He knew the customary way was to get down on one knee with a ring, not so baffled as to forget that. He had admittedly deleted it for a long while, but when he was absolutely sure John had no intention of leaving, he had searched on the internet. There was just one simple problem. Well, it _should_ have been simple, but it seemed to be far from that.

John was a hopeless romantic. And Sherlock was hopeless at _being_ romantic, so that presented the aforementioned problem.

Sherlock never did anything by halves, so this should be no different. He wanted, _needed_ , to show John that he had every intention of doing everything he could to make John happy. And he knew that a grand proposal would make John happy.

So a grand proposal was what he would get.

* * *

"No." John said firmly, and Sherlock stared at him in slight shock. There was no reason John should refuse the simple request. Because that would, in turn, mean that John indirectly refused to accept the proposal. Granted, he wouldn't see the proposal in the first place, but still.

"It is a blindfold, not a death sentence." Sherlock attempted to keep his tone as cool and steady as it was on a normal basis, but there was a surprising amount of internal panic. He practically begged a god he didn't believe in to _make John do it_.

"Given what happened the _last time_ you blindfolded me..." John trailed off meaningfully, and Sherlock opened his mouth. He regrettably had no reply, because John's concern was warranted. The last blindfold incident had ended disastrously, so the ex-army man couldn't exactly be blamed.

"But John-"

"Sherlock," John cut the consulting detective off, grabbing his hands, "I love you, but not enough to do this." There was a teasing light in his eyes, so Sherlock knew John did, in fact, love him a great deal. But behind the statement, there was a note of seriousness. This would not be a success.

Still, Sherlock was not one to give up easily, so he opened his mouth to protest. John snatched the blindfold away from Sherlock without warning, stepping close enough to distract Sherlock the tiniest bit. But it was enough, and John took the opportunity to bring a hand up, cupping Sherlock's cheek.

"Why don't we go upstairs," John murmured lowly, "and do things that don't involve a blindfold?" Though it was rather blunt and tactless, the question was enough to scatter Sherlock's thoughts. John smirked the tiniest bit, but Sherlock couldn't find it in himself to protest, because the next second, John was kissing him intently.

The rose petals on the stairs were consequently forgotten.

A half-hour later, with an unheard mutter of "Not your housekeeper," Mrs. Hudson swept them up and deposited them-and the proposal attempt-in the trash.

* * *

It took Sherlock a pathetic three days to come up with another plan. He tried to do it without outside research, but found that it was useless. Every romantic movie had been deleted from his mind, and for once, he regretted it. It took him two days to admit defeat and turn to the internet.

He purposely left the milk to spoil, much to John's chagrin. John was consequently forced out of the flat and to the grocery store, giving Sherlock time to use his laptop without interruption. So Sherlock spent an hour trying to settle on one that seemed romantic enough. Finally, he decided.

John liked chocolate cake very much, as he did candlelit dinners at Angelo's. It brought him a sense of sentimentality, and though Sherlock would never admit it aloud, he felt the same. So Sherlock concluded that it would be perfect.

The couple sat at their table, easy conversation flowing as always. For a while, they had quietly discussed their current case. In Sherlock's opinion, it was quite dull, but John had seemed interested enough when Lestrade had told them about it, so for his sake, Sherlock had taken it.

Not without several biting comments to Anderson and Donovan, but that was to be expected.

The pasta had been impeccable as always, and the dinner had been to both of their liking. Dessert was to come, and Sherlock's anticipation was building. He was _not_ nervous though. Sherlock Holmes was never _nervous_. His pounding heart could clearly be because of-

He searched for an excuse, but when he couldn't find one, he tried to delete the thought. For the first time in a long time, it didn't work. In fact, it almost made things worse, because after that, Sherlock couldn't _stop_ thinking about it. Despite the fact that he knew John would say yes without hesitation, there was a stupidly irrational part of him that wondered "What if he says no?"

Sherlock was pulled from his slight insecurity when Angelo brought out two slices of undoubtedly delicious chocolate cake. And these would be _especially_ delicious considering the fact that John's was rather... special.

"Enjoy your food." Angelo said with an obvious wink, but John didn't seem to notice in favor of cutting into his piece. Sherlock watched raptly, waiting for the moment John's eyes would widen...

But it didn't come.

In fact, Sherlock stared as John finished the _entire piece_ with absolutely no reaction.

After wiping his mouth, John looked up. His brow furrowed as his eyes flicked to Sherlock's untouched plate

"Are you all right?" He asked, concern evident in his tone. Sherlock tried for a smile, but it seemed unsuccessful judging by the look that remained on John's face. To ease John's mind, Sherlock cut into his own slice, but was met with a bit of resistance.

He nearly screamed when he realised the ring had, in fact, been in the wrong slice.

Sherlock considered proposing anyways, but the moment was already ruined for him, so he tried to improve his facade. He slipped the dirtied ring back in his pocket when John glanced out the window.

* * *

 _How does one propose without interruption? -SH_

 _Why are you asking...?_

 _You cannot possibly be that dense. -SH_

 _If you want my help, then you might want to be a bit nicer about it._

 _Fine. Lestrade, will you please give me advice on how to propose to my partner. It would be ever so appreciated. -SH_

 _That is dripping with sarcasm._

 _LESTRADE! -SH_

 _Try an aeroplane skywriting it._

 _That will suffice. -SH_

 _Sherlock, I wasn't serious._

 _Goodbye -SH_

* * *

"Let's go to the park." Sherlock suggested, breaking a comfortable silence that had settled in flat. John looked up from his newspaper quizzically, clearly surprised. For a moment, he stared at Sherlock, who had seemed to be in his thinking position mere seconds ago. In reality, it was a front to keep John from noticing his hated nerves.

John seemed to consider the offer for a second, and Sherlock was sure he would accept. Then, the blond looked out the window, and his face fell.

"It's snowing." He pointed out. Disbelief struck Sherlock, because it wasn't supposed to snow for another _two days_. But when he looked outside, Sherlock found that it was, in fact, snowing. He cursed himself for in any way trusting the weather forecast that was _always_ wrong.

"A bit of snow will not be detrimental to our health." Sherlock attempted to convince John, who raised an eyebrow. "In fact, I recall that you love romantic walks in the park with snow."

John sighed, folding his newspaper, but there was a certain lightness to his step when he got up that made Sherlock consider it a victory already. He was so happy that he didn't even comment on John's horrendous jumper as he put on his trademark black coat.

It didn't take them long to get to the park, and it was very cliche, if Sherlock should say so himself. They were walking hand in hand. Sherlock wished it was just warm enough to hold John's hand without gloves, but he couldn't complain, because it was quite romantic.

A while into their conversation and casual walk, Sherlock began to check the sky for the inevitable words. More and more time passed, but they didn't come, and Sherlock was starting to worry the tiniest bit.

Not even a moment after his doubts started, his phone rang. He recognised the number as the airplane company's, so he stepped away to answer.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes." A slightly disappointed voice greeted him. Sherlock immediately deduced what was to come, so he ended the call, not even letting the employee finish. He looked to the sky once more, cursing the clouds that he hadn't thought would be such a large problem. It was true that they were too low for the words to be visible, but Sherlock cursed the company anyways.

He returned to John, continuing the walk with a slightly heavy heart.

* * *

"Sherlock?" John called out from somewhere behind the man in question. Sherlock hummed in distracted response, for once trying not to spill acid on the kitchen table. If he couldn't propose, the least he could do was save them the expense of yet another table. "Did you have something you wanted to ask me?"

"Not particularly, no." Sherlock replied, still not paying much attention. Had he been focused, he would've noticed the unsure hope and nervousness in John's voice, but alas, his experiment was very intriguing. Much more intriguing than a trivial question.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock tensed when he processed the slightly disbelieving note in John's tone, because there was really nothing to disbelieve. Not except...

"Very." Sherlock forced nonchalance, hoping to whatever nonexistent higher being that it would work. John made a noise that clearly communicated that he knew Sherlock was hiding something, but Sherlock didn't turn to face him in hopes that his lack of interest would salvage the situation.

"Really?" John prodded, "Because I don't recall searching for _cliche marriage proposals_ on my computer, nor do I recall buying a ring." For a second, Sherlock completely froze. Then, he whipped around to face John, who was holding a familiar velvet box in his hand. There was a small grin on his face as he watched Sherlock's reaction, which gave every single bit of it away.

"How did you...?" Sherlock was too shocked to even deny anything, and he couldn't seem to regain his wits as John opened the box. The latter man examined the white gold band, his smile growing. "There's an inscription on the inside." Sherlock blurted out weakly, not knowing what to say.

 _Sempre e per sempre_

"Why Italian?" John asked casually, and Sherlock still had no idea what to make of everything going on.

"Angelo's." Was all Sherlock had to say, and that was when he realised that John's hands were trembling slightly. He didn't appear to be as normal as he was trying to, which gave Sherlock some of his mental function back. John looked up from the ring, and Sherlock saw that his eyes were shining with tears.

"Hand me the ring." Sherlock murmured softly after completely returning to himself. John stared at him for a second as if contemplating what to do. Sherlock got down on one knee anyways. "John." He said a bit firmer, and John smirked, finally putting the ring back into the velvet box and giving it to Sherlock. "Will you marry me?" The words were barely a whisper.

"Yes." John replied, and that was when a tear slipped down his cheek. Sherlock jumped to his feet, slipping the ring on John's finger and pressed their lips together softly. "I love you." John said in between gentle kisses.

Sherlock echoed the words.

* * *

Later, John sat at his laptop, fingers poised over the keyboard. After he and Sherlock had kissed... then done other things... Sherlock had told him about the many attempts to ask the question.

So of course, despite Sherlock's numerous protests, John had to write a blog entry about it.

He stared at the screen, chewing on his lip, and wondered what to call it. It had to be something interesting, had to do all of Sherlock's effort justice. Then again, there was no way John could possibly put how amazing that was into words, those countless romantic attempts at proposals.

John stopped at that thought with a smile, then typed in the rather perfect title:

 _Countless Proposals_


End file.
